


Together Forever At Last - from A Big Spooky Fan Zine.

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Johnny Maxwell - Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the dead - Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Big Spooky Fan Zine, AU, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Johnny And The Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are ghosts haunting a graveyard in Blackbury, when Adam Young and his dog visit his Auntie Marjorie Potts (Aka Madame Tracy), who lives there. Adam meets another boy his age, Johnny Maxwell, after hearing about some mysterious events near the cemetery, and the two boys team up to get to the bottom of things. They unearth an injustice, and help put things to rights, so that Crowley will stop getting up to mischief, and so that he and Aziraphale can get what they always wanted - each other.This is a crossover AU for a Halloween special called A Big Spooky Fan Zine, the exclusivity period is now up. The Crossover is between Good Omens and Terry Pratchett's "Johnny And The Dead" (for why I chose to mix these together,  see thisTumblr postfor the many easter eggs that Sir Terry shared between his books.)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 43
Collections: ABSFZ Halloween Good Omens Works





	Together Forever At Last - from A Big Spooky Fan Zine.

**Author's Note:**

> All the ghosts and their details in this are taken directly from Sir Terry Pratchett's "Johnny And The Dead". I figured that Mr. Vicenti and Aziraphale would probably be good friends in the afterlife, seeing as parts of them were written very similarly by Terry - specifically, their inept magic act and the doves.

“Adam Young, will you _please_ turn the volume down on that dratted game?” Deirdre said in exasperation. “In fact turn it off, we’re nearly at Auntie Marjorie’s.” Adam gave a pained sigh from the back seat of the car.

Blackbury wasn’t the most thrilling place to go for a holiday, but it made a change from Tadfield anyway. It was bleak, industrial, and falling into dereliction. 

On his second day, he’d been at a burger bar when he overheard some local kids chatting on the next table. Something about haunting and poltergeists. Adam had always been a sucker for supernatural and spooky stories, and couldn’t help listening in. 

_“Yo-less,_ I’m not kidding. I swear, saw it meself - stuff is moving around at the old boot factory. I was there explorin’ and looked in one room and it was all messy, then I went out, and there was a pound coin on the floor but it was kinda stuck there. I went back in the other room like a minute later to see if I could find something to pry it up with, and all these old boots was lined up in a neat row - not a sound, I was the only person in there!”

“Bigmac, boots don’t just line themselves up on their own, there has to be a rational explanation.” 

The kid addressed as ‘Yo-less’ had a polite, educated voice, dark skin and short cropped afro. The one apparently known as Bigmac was tall, skinny, and dressed like a wannabe punk, Doc Marten boots, ripped jeans and a t-shirt with “Blackbury Skins” drawn on it in marker pen. His knuckles had ‘LOVE’ and ‘HAT’ written on them in biro, with a faded ‘E’ on the last knuckle where it had rubbed off. 

“AND, my cousin works for the AA, he said they’ve had loads of callouts to broken down cars on Cemetery road - flat batteries for no reason, he said,” Bigmac continued. “Like twelve of them in a week. And people’s phone signal dropping out whenever they’re near the cemetery too.”

“We should ask Johnny, prob’ly those _friends_ of his.” said a familiar voice. 

Adam’s head shot up and he tried to discreetly peer into the reflection in the window to see if he was right. The third voice sounded very much like his nemesis who had moved away a couple of years ago. The kid was thickset and… he finally caught a glimpse in the reflected image in the window - it was! Greasy Johnson!

“You seen ‘im today, Wobbler?” Bigmac asked, before slurping at the dregs of his milkshake noisily.

“Said he’d be down at the Cemetery again.” Wobbler Johnson replied. _Stephen, that was his first name,_ Adam recalled. Seems he’d picked up a new nickname in his new home though. 

The other kids finished their burgers and ambled out. Adam was intrigued. When they got home, he asked if he could go for a walk down by the canal. 

“Oh if you’d be a dear, that’d be ideal,” His Auntie Marjorie had said. “I’ve got a séance on at two, and while the odd ominous banging sound can be helpful, those beyond the veil rarely yell out “eat some laser, alien scum” while playing videogames upstairs, so if you _would_ pop out and take the dog for a walk, it’d be lovely.”

* * *

Adam let Dog off the lead once they got off the main road, and he followed the canal toward the hulking shell of the old Blackbury Boot Factory backing onto Cemetery Road. Dog delighted in flushing rabbits out of the undergrowth by the path, while Adam peered at the random detritus that filled the murky water in the canal. A rusted out Ford Cortina poked a single headlight above the waterline like some monster from the deep. 

Reaching the cemetery, he heard voices. He peeked around a tall mausoleum and spied a boy about his own age sitting on the top of a raised vault tomb, swinging his legs, chatting to a man in an old fashioned football uniform. The man had ‘L’ and ‘R’ written on the toes of his boots.

The boy was reading out the football results from a local paper to him. 

A little further away, a lady in some kind of period clothing and a very big hat covered in wax fruit was chatting to a man dressed in a smart black suit with neat black hair plastered down, and a carnation in his buttonhole. He held a top hat in one hand, and unusually, a white dove sat on his head. There were a few other people ambling around chatting a little further away, it looked relatively busy.

Adam shrugged and walked towards them. 

* * *

“Uh, hi…” Adam began.

The other kid looked up and smiled. 

“Oh, um, hi. Sorry I was just reading to myself…” he looked embarrassed. Adam looked confused. 

“To yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m Johnny by the way.”

“I’m Adam.” He looked expectantly at the bloke in the football kit, who hadn’t introduced himself. 

After a moment, both Johnny and the footballer seemed to notice this, and exchanged surprised glances, before both staring wide-eyed at Adam. 

“Wait, can you, er… see something?” Johnny asked hesitantly. 

“Well yeah, why does your friend have L and R on his boots?”

“You can SEE Stanley?” Johnny was incredulous. 

“Um, yes?” Adam held out his hand to shake, Stanley laughed, then waved his own hand right through it. Adam stared at his hand in confusion. 

“I thought I was the only one who could see the dead, but you can too?” Johnny grinned widely. “This is Stanley ‘Wrong Way’ Roundway,” Johnny said by way of introduction. 

“1892-1936,” Stanley supplied, helpfully. “Blackbury Wanderers - record number of goals, own goals that is, in any sport. Never did have much of a sense of direction, I’m afraid,” he finished with a sigh.

Dog ran over, and ran through Stanley without a second thought. 

“You’re a ghost?”

“‘Fraid so,” Stanley replied. He noted Adam’s gaze wandering to the other oddly dressed occupants of the graveyard. “Them too.” Only you, Johnny and your dog are alive around here, kid.”

“So the ghost stories the other kids were talking about are true? Is the old boot factory haunted?”

Johnny looked confused at that. 

“Shouldn’t be, they mostly hang out in here, why? What stories did you hear?”

“I think they might be friends of yours, they were in the burger place earlier talking about cars not starting, old boots moving around in the factory and stuff.”

Stanley and Johnny exchanged a glance. “I suppose we should ask the others?” Stanley suggested. Johnny nodded, hopped off the tomb and inclined his head to indicate that Adam should follow him. 

“So you new around here then?” He asked Adam.

“Yeah, only visited once or twice, my auntie Marjorie lives here, we’re on holiday. She lives up Cable Street.”

“Oh my cousin lives up there, Marjorie who?”

“Potts.”

“Oh you mean Madame Tracy? My auntie goes to her to get her fortune told sometimes.”

“Yeah. That’s just her work name, she says.”

They arrived amidst a group of other ghosts and Johnny began to introduce them. 

“Everyone, this is Adam, He’s Madame Tracy’s nephew, he can see you all too. Adam, this is Sylvia Liberty…” he indicated the lady with the corseted dress and hat laden with wax fruit.

Sylvia gave him a nod. “Died 1914,” she supplied. 

“This is Alderman Thomas Bowler, er 1822 to um…”

“1906,” said the Alderman, tipping his hat with a warm smile. Adam smiled back, slightly baffled but determined to go with the flow.

“This is Solomon Einstein, he was a taxidermist, funnily enough he used to have a shop on Cable Street near your aunt’s house, he was hit by a car in 1932.” Johnny turned to another gent. “William Stickers, 1897-1919. Then Father Kearney, 1891-1949. Over there is Ronald Newton, 18…” He looked to Ronald for help, having forgotten. 

“1879-1934. Chairman of Blackbury Flat Earth Society, retired, naturally,” the ghost added.

“Yes, sorry,” Johnny continued. “Addison Vincent Fletcher, he invented a better telephone…”

“This is Mr. Vicenti,” he indicated the gentleman with neat black hair, and a carnation in his buttonhole. The ghostly dove on his shoulder fluttered off and pecked futilely at something in the grass. “He had a joke shop in Alma Street where the multi-storey car park is now, and did children’s entertainment and magic tricks as The Great Vicenti and Ethel.”

Vicenti’s sleeve bulged and another bird poked its head out. He gently extracted it and it flew off to land on the shoulder of another ghost who ambled up from a tomb topped with a weeping angel. 

“Sorry, got a bad case of doves, I’m afraid,” Vicenti apologised. “I swear they breed in there. Ah hello Aziraphale!” He greeted the newcomer with a smile. “Allow me to introduce my good friend Mr. Aziraphale Fell, 1925-1973.” Vicenti paused to retrieve the dove from Mr. Fell’s shoulder with an apologetic smile before continuing. “Ran a bookshop didn’t you? But turns out he also did children’s entertaining and magic, so we have a lot in common.” 

Aziraphale beamed and nodded. He was dressed in pale beige tones, a faded waistcoat with gold pocket watch, and a three quarter length pale coat. His hair was a pale halo around his head. 

“Delighted to meet you, dear boy,” He made a polite bow to Adam. 

“So where’s that man of yours?” The Alderman asked Mr. Fell. 

“Oh, I’m sure Crowley is around here somewhere…” Fell peered around. “CROWLEY? Where the devil are you, you insufferable nuisance?”

A moment later a tall, lanky shape clad all in black sauntered across from the direction of Cemetery road, hands in pockets and sunglasses covering his eyes. He had a shock of red hair and “mischief” written all over him. Aziraphale’s face lit up when he laid eyes on him. 

“There you are, love. Where on earth have you been? We have company, Johnny has brought a new friend along and he can see us as well.”

Crowley gave Adam an appraising look. 

“Hi, Anthony J. Crowley, I live over there…” He nodded towards a gravestone several feet behind them, it was simple, black marble, sleek and smart, rather like it’s occupant. A twining snake was carved into it.

Adam smiled back at him. 

“So how did you die, Mr. Crowley?”  
  
“Squished by Shakespeare.”  
  
“But your gravestone says you died in 1973...!”  
  
“His books were heavy, ok?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley was helping me re-shelve some of my heavier tomes when a bookcase fell over on us both.”  
  
“I told you not to put the big ones on the top shelf, but _would_ you listen?” He rolled his eyes theatrically at Aziraphale.  
  
“Well _you_ didn’t attach a retaining bracket to the wall like I asked you to, dear.”  
  
“I was busy fixing the Bentley and I forgot,” Crowley grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest grumpily. 

“So what’s with the snake on your tombstone?” Adam interjected hurriedly to diffuse the spat. 

“Crowley was a herpetologist.” Aziraphale supplied. 

“Herpe-what-ogist?” 

“Herpetology, the study of snakes, reptiles, amphibians and suchlike. Crowley had a distinct specialism in ophiology: serpents. He worked at London Zoo, we met when we both lived in London, before he was reassigned to Blackbury Zoo, so we relocated here.”

 _“Anyway,”_ Johnny cut in. “We wanted to know if any of you lot know anything about any haunting activity on Cemetery road and the old boot factory?”

The assembled ghosts looked blank, there were several shrugs. Adam and Johnny scanned the crowd, until Johnny's gaze alighted on Aziraphale, who looked deeply suspicious, while side-eyeing Crowley who, in turn, was looking decidedly embarrassed.

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, and Crowley’s expression shifted into guilt, with a side order of attempted, and failed, nonchalance.

It took him a moment before he realised that all eyes were on him, and he glared back. 

“Wot?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began, his voice stern. “Is that where you’ve been gallivanting off to recently?”

Crowley blustered out a string of offended consonants. 

“Ngk, fzkt… pfft…” before ending up on wounded pride with “Hwa? Me? Angel….”

“Don’t you ‘Angel’ me, Crowley, you have, haven’t you? You’ve been sauntering off and getting up to poltergeist shenanigans, haven’t you?”

Crowley started at his feet. 

“... maybe…” he muttered. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sounded disappointed. “You promised you’d stop, darling.”

“But it’s not fair!” Crowley wailed. “They don’t listen, they never listened, I’m jus’ getting some revenge.”

“Revenge for what?” Adam asked. Aziraphale had wrapped Crowley up in a hug and was patting him gently on the back. A ghostly dove escaped from his sleeve as well and landed, cooing, on Crowley’s head. Mr. Vicenti tactfully reached out and removed it. 

Aziraphale turned his gaze on the boys, his expression now sad. 

“Because they didn’t bury us together,” he said simply. 

“Huh?”

Crowley sniffed. Aziraphale pulled a string of colouful handkerchiefs from his sleeve, (along with another dove), and passed the end to Crowley, who blew his nose loudly. 

“We had it in our wills,” Crowley muttered. “Both of us - we’d even bought a joint plot together for when the time came, but when it did, they ignored it. They saw that Aziraphale had bought the plot and assumed that he’d done it for if he ever found a wife. They called us “Batchelors” and thought we were just good friends who happened to share a house for convenience. So they built that hulking great edifice with that frankly creepy weeping angel on top of it…” (Here Crowley shuddered)*, and plonked me down over there…” He waved bitterly at his own plot on the other side of the service road bisecting the area. 

He grabbed the next hanky in the string and blew his nose again. Aziraphale smiled wanly at the boys. 

“You see, it wasn’t such an enlightened time back then. I mean we died only the year after the first London Pride parade. It was assumed that two gentlemen living together couldn’t possibly be in love, so someone in authority must have ignored that part of our wills and just decided for themselves what to do with us.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny mumbled, Adam nodded. 

“Oh don’t be, young lad, it’s not your fault at all by any means. But it does get to Crowley so very much sometimes, and he can’t help but vent his frustrations. Anger does give one somewhat of a boost in poltergeist strength, and he just lets off steam now and then.”

* * *

Johnny and Adam walked along the canal and back towards Cable Street, Dog gambolled about, sniffing out interesting things. 

“D’you suppose we could help?” Adam asked. 

“Help what?”

“Well if Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell had it in their wills that they wanted to be buried together, maybe we could find the wills and have them dug up and put together like they wanted?”

“Exhumed,” Johnny said.

“Huh?”

“‘S the right word for it, when you dig someone up. But yeah, we could try. If anyone’ll know how to do it, Anathema will - she works in the civic library in the town hall.”

They took Dog back home first, then headed off to the library. Anathema was intrigued, and happy to help the boys find what they needed. 

“You’ll need £5 for the fee, then you can apply in the office down the hall in the probate department - you just need the person’s name and date of death, although if you’ve got more it’ll help. What’s it for?”

“School project,” Johnny replied quickly, his default response to most things adults asked him, it worked surprisingly well for opening doors and getting answers. Anathema might be open minded on many supernatural things, but telling her that a couple of ghosts wanted help to get exhumed and re-interred might be a stretch too far.

Because the death records were local, the secretary told them they could have them ready tomorrow, and to come back the next afternoon. 

Sure enough, going over Mr. Fell’s will, it did indeed state he had purchased a double plot, and wanted it to be shared with Mr. Anthony J. Crowley. The comment had been crossed out in pencil, but not initialled or dated. When they pointed this out to the secretary, she looked concerned. 

“That means it’s not legal - these two people should have been buried together - are you saying they weren’t?”

Adam shook his head. “Johnny helps keep the cemetery tidy and helped stop it getting demolished, he founded the ‘Friends of Blackbury’ to protect the cemetery, and found this out - the grave stones are separate and in different places.”

“Well I suggest you take this and discuss it with the vicar, I’m sure in this day and age we can do something to put it right. Go and talk to Reverend Noel, I’m sure he’ll be interested to learn about this.” 

* * *

Knocking on the vicarage door, they heard a dog barking, and a male voice calling “I’ll get it, love,” before footsteps approached and the door was opened by a young man with a warm smile. “How can I help you boys?”

“Are you the vicar?”

“Oh no, you’ll be wanting my husband, one moment lads….NOEL? Some boys to see you, dear.”

Another young man, this time wearing a clerical collar, came to the door with an equally warm smile. Adam and Johnny exchanged a relieved smile with each other at the sight, this might make it somewhat easier. 

They explained that they’d been doing some research for a school history project and learned about two local men who had lived together nearby, and were buried in the local cemetery. 

Adam explained how they’d noticed in the will that they were meant to be buried together, and yet had separate plots. At this, Reverend Noel’s face fell into sad empathy. 

“I’m afraid that doesn’t surprise me, boys. It was a less enlightened time then. Did you say you have a copy of the will with you? May I see?”

Adam passed it across wordlessly, and watched as the vicar read it with interest. 

“You’re right, this crossing out isn’t legal, and it doesn’t state who did it, so the amendment isn’t valid. Do you also have Mr. Crowley’s will?”

“We only had one £5 note between us so we only got one,” Adam replied sadly. 

“No trouble, I’ll check the other myself - if that corroborates the instruction, then I shall be making enquiries. It would require an exhumation license, and some other legal bits and bobs, but I can talk to the church and the council about that. I would very much like to take this case on for you, boys. If you leave your numbers with me, I will keep you informed of progress, and thank you for bringing it to my attention. I’d hate for injustices like this to continue, and these gentlemen deserve the eternal rest they requested.”

* * *

It took a few weeks, but Reverend Noel eventually got in touch with Adam and Johnny to let them know that an exhumation and reburial was planned for the end of October. Adam begged his parents to let them go back up North to visit Auntie Marjorie for Halloween, to which they happily agreed. 

The day before, both Adam and Johnny returned to the cemetery to visit and bring the good news. They noticed an RAC and an AA patrol van parked down Cemetery road jump starting flat batteries again, so clearly Crowley was still up to his poltergeist tricks. Walking to Mr. Fell’s monumental tomb with the weeping angel on top, Johnny knocked politely. 

“Mr Fell? Aziraphale? It’s me. And Adam, you remember? From the summer holidays? We’ve got something to tell you.”

First to emerge was a ghostly dove, who sat on top of the angel and cooed down at them, followed by Aziraphale, whose face lit up in delight when he spied the boys. 

“Fancy seeing you back here again, young man,” he nodded at Adam. “How are things?”

“Is Crowley around?”

“Oh he must have sneaked off again, up to no good, I’ll be bound.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes in exasperation. “CROWLEY!” He aimed a yell toward the direction of the old boot factory. A little while later, a familiar, tall, lanky figure emerged, looking guilty, and sauntered back to the graveyard. 

“Uh, hi guys, sorry I’m late, what’s up?”

“The boys have some news for us apparently,” Aziraphale wrapped Crowley up in a hug and pecked him on the cheek affectionately. 

“We found your wills, and made ‘em listen - you’re getting reburied together!”

Crowley and Aziraphale first stared at the boys in shock, and then at each other, expressions a curious mix of soft, loving, excited, and overwhelmed. Aziraphale suddenly swept Crowley up in his arms and squeezed him tight.

“Oh darling! We’re to be together properly at last! Oh isn’t this wonderful, my dear?”

Crowley wiped a tear from his eye and kissed his partner back, before turning his head to smile at Adam and Johnny. “Thank you, both of you, you’ve no idea how much this means to us. Didn’t the vicar kick up a stink about it?”

“The vicar and his husband helped us get it sorted for you,” Adam replied with a grin. 

“Husband? Vicars can marry boyfriends now?” Crowley was incredulous. 

“Yup. That’s why they wanted to help. He was very apologetic at what they’d done to you in the past and wanted to make amends.”

“D’you think they could get rid of that hideous weeping angel statue on the top while they’re at it?” Crowley asked, flinging a distasteful look at the offending object. “It gives me the creeps.”

“You’re a _ghost_ and a _statue_ gives you the creeps?” Johnny was amused. 

“Yeah, no idea why, never liked it.”

“Well, not sure we can do anything about that, you didn’t put it in your will and we can’t just say ‘the ghost said he didn’t like it’,” Adam responded. 

* * *

The next day dawned, and a small yellow digger was brought in. Johnny and Adam, plus Reverend Noel and his husband, were in attendance, as well as Anathema and a lady from the council. 

Adam tried not to laugh when he saw Crowley sneak up to the digger as it opened up Aziraphale’s plot to add his own coffin, reaching into the control box with ghostly hands and nudging some electrons around, making the digger swing erratically enough to knock the angel statue from the top, where it shattered on the ground. The digger driver was aghast. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t do that, I swear, it just glitched somehow, oh my… I…”

“Don’t worry,” Adam reassured him. “I don’t think they liked the statue anyway, they’ll be just as happy without it, trust me.”

The re-internment completed, Aziraphale and Crowley sat happily side by side atop their new shared grave, wrapped in each other’s arms, and thanked the boys. 

The hauntings outside the cemetery stopped, although inexplicably, whenever council workers came to try to replace the broken angel statue, very specific hauntings started again to foil whatever plan was in place to fix the damage, and eventually they stopped trying. 

**Author's Note:**

> *I HC that Crowley is creeped out by statues carved like weeping angels due to some morphic resonance from another universe. He has no idea why. ;) 
> 
> Tumblr post I made while researching this fic, which includes some notes about Good Omens crossovers in other Terry Pratchett books, which inspired the elements of this crossover fic:
> 
> [ https://scrapheapchallenge.tumblr.com/post/629099327156027392/so-im-currently-working-on-a-project-where-some](https://scrapheapchallenge.tumblr.com/post/629099327156027392/so-im-currently-working-on-a-project-where-some)


End file.
